


they toll for thee, demon

by foundatlantis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Hurt No Comfort, I Ship It, M/M, Post-Season/Series 12, Praying Sam Winchester, Sad Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22805407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundatlantis/pseuds/foundatlantis
Summary: 'For whom do the bells toll?' says Crowley, a little confused.'Oh, demon,' says God, 'Do not ask for whom the bells toll.'Sam Winchester prays after Crowley's sacrifice, too; and Crowley is still dead.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Crowley (Supernatural)/Sam Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	they toll for thee, demon

You smile, and Crowley's heart rings.

In stark contrast, your pale hand is cold on the gun's leather-laced handle; your finger, like marble cut --- like steel --- is laced through the slide stop; your finger is on the trigger. 

'Ah, Moose,' Crowley smiles, 'what a warm welcome.'

You don't laugh --- you never laugh, with Crowley; a frown weighs down your tired, bleak features. 

You never shoot that day, and Crowley's heart tolls, a little deeper now.

You never shoot that day; and Crowley is alive.

He does not kill you, when crimson embers flare in his eyes --- when, desperately, your cold fingertips dig the foor for the handle on the knife. He does not kill you --- Crowley makes some threat or another, which your heart is too dry in your throat to let you hear; and too loud.

You fail to uphold your deal with Rowena; and Crowley is alive.

A King in Hell --- a slave after your soul; and Crowley's own is a deep silver bell tolling in his chest.

It is not his chest which takes the knife, you notice --- a blade at his own hand. He had always said it would be yours, and you heard his heart's bell toll in his eyes, sad --- a farewell lilt.

'Bye, boys,' says Crowley, and your own heart, now, is taken by a white-hot hold. High in the heavens, some deep bells toll, and you hear them trembling in your ears.

Those bells are your frantic heartbeat; and Crowley is dead.

The night's kiss is cold on your skin when you close your eyes and pray before your sleep. The backseat of the Impala is dead-cold leather, pale beneath you. You heard Dean, off the shoulder of the old house soon after the funeral pyre; you heard him pray --- you suppose, there is not much shame, then.

Dean prayed for Castiel, you think --- so I will pray for him.

_Chuck_, you pray, _Crowley's not over yet. There is so much more to come --- so much more for him to do, but only if you bring him back. Please, bring him back. _

The golden shimmer in the strings of your soul chases into the Heavens, and finds an end --- a listener --- in God's mind.

Chuck tilts his head in thought, considers --- he knows, already, what the answer will be. He lets himself think, nonetheless; and nonetheless, Crowley is dead.

You pray, that night and the next, and the next, and the next.

Your prayers take a desperate note --- stronger, as days come and go, God thinks. The glimmer and the golden jingle in your soul's strings grow deeper, and louder, and soon --- soon they toll, like bells, in God's Halls.

'Uh, God, yeah?' your Demon asks, voice unaccustomed, 'Couldn't help but notice your fire alarm's off again.'

'Very funny,' says Chuck, 'Those, Crowley, are the Bells.'

'Oh, really?' his tones are mocking, which Chuck is not suprised with, 'For whom do they toll?'

'Don't ask for whom the bells toll, demon,' says Chuck, and smiles with satisfaction --- Crowley pales.

And you pray.

You pray, every day, for a very long time; after. You pray, and the demon, who was never really in Chuck's Halls --- _he's dead, remember?_ \--- doesn't ever ask questions again. You pray, even, that he would, but he does not; and he never will.

You pray.

You pray, Sam; and Crowley is dead.

❧

_Dean, I think someone's, uh, knocking on the bunker's door._

_Nonsence, Sammy, who'd--- huh._

_Well, you hear that?_

_Yeah, Sammy --- grab your gun._

_Already._

_Well done. Let's go._

_Open the door carefully, Sammy --- I got them on the mark._

_I have the knife ready. _

_So do I, the gun. Go ahead already._

_Here goes._

_Well?_

_Open the door a little wider, darling, I think he'll be overjoyed._

_Sammy, why am I hearing the voice--- son of a bitch._

_❧_

_Hello, boys._


End file.
